


there's a sky full of lights

by nuest95s



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, Swearing, Unrequited Love, way too much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 01:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuest95s/pseuds/nuest95s
Summary: Jeno’s in love with basketball, and Renjun’s in love with Jeno. Their paths don’t cross, parallelism but on different planes.





	there's a sky full of lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pledispristin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pledispristin/gifts).



> if this is good, :D. if it's bad, I NEVER WROTE IT!!! in all honesty it's super experimental ^_^ hopefully not shit
> 
> written off the prompt: au where renjun has a crush on jeno who's on the basketball team + goes to watch all his games ... yes i am self inserting my life here (emily has the mind of a mastermind and formal sorry to her for screwing up her prompt this bad)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: ive literally never been to an hs bball game, ever. that being said, i tried my best. 
> 
> here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/varsh-bear/playlist/4s2tRVPw1IwE4SehFLIVRu?si=FB2V36VDScmo8sviGUQ8BQ) because when was the last time i wrote something without a soundtrack to it. the work title is from the deepest sighs, the frankest shadows by gang of youths. no this isn't a songfic i just really fucking love that song
> 
> AND LAST, but NOT LEAST, happy early birthday to shad, i love you so much, it's your birthday in MULTIPLE COUNTRIES EVEN THOUGH NOT IN YOURS OR MINE and hopefully you like this. i love you. i already said that

_'cause not everything means something, honey_

_so say the unsayable, say the most human of things_

 

            Renjun is made for the sidelines.

            It’s not an insult, backhanded and sharp, even though it could be. Just the sort of thing he internalized a long time ago, eyes drifting towards the window during class. In another universe, maybe, he might’ve tried to rage against it, dyed his hair pastel pink and kissed the first hot guy he saw. But this universe has Jeno Lee, so he doesn’t.

            “Thought I’d find you here,” Donghyuck says, dropping into the empty space beside him. The gymnasium’s still filling, tension heavy and sticky in the air. It’s a good turn out, almost equal parts rabid PTA moms and popular kids looking to support their friends. But, as always, there’s the minority.

            He flushes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            Donghyuck shrugs, pops his gum.  “Just that he’s there, and you’re here. Like clockwork.”

            _Like clockwork._ Renjun tries not to think too hard about it. “I’m just supporting the basketball team. School spirit, you should try it.”

            The other boy snorts, scrutinizes the boys on the bench until he sees black hair and a familiar name on the jersey. “School spirit’s overrated. Hopeless crushes, on the other hand—”

            Renjun leans over, steps on Donghyuck’s toe until he yelps. “We’re in public.”

            “Not like it matters,” he says breezily, slinging an arm around Renjun’s shoulders. “East High is famous for three things: Meatloaf day, our basketball team, and Renjun’s huge fucking crush on Jeno Lee.”

            He doesn’t speak _that_ loud, just enough for Renjun to scowl at him, but Jeno turns around, three rows in front of them. He scans the crowd, intent. He looks kind of cute like that, face screwed up in concentration. He stops just to the right of Renjun, then skips over him.

            It doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t even surprise him at this point—he’d gotten over the fear, a stomach drop sensation like jumping off a cliff with nothing but rocks below, a long time ago. Renjun is an absence in the sitcom drama that is Jeno’s life, a stutter in the background noise. There’s little that would surprise him more than Jeno seeing him, except maybe pigs flying. Honestly, that’s probably more likely at this point.

            “Is this game important?” Donghyuck asks, crunching on chips. Renjun stares at the bag, and the other boy snorts and points it at him.

            He pulls a chip out and nibbles on it, looking out at the court. “Don’t actually know.”

            Donghyuck gasps, puts a hand over his mouth. _“No,_ don’t tell me… you don’t _actually_ pay attention at these things? Oh my, what could you possibly be watching then?”

            Renjun steps on his foot again, and he grins as a reply. Out of his periphery, he sees Mark Lee walk to the center of the court, the other captain joining him from the other side of the gym. Donghyuck punches Renjun’s shoulder over and over, because he’s a hypocrite.

            He wrenches it out of his grip. “Stop beating up my arm just because you can’t deal with Mark.”

            Donghyuck pouts at him momentarily before returning his doe eyed gaze to the center of the court. “Hey, Jun. Do you think there’s something in the Gatorade? There has to be, right?”

            Renjun takes another chip out of his bag. It’s jalapeno flavored, he realizes suddenly. Jeno likes jalapeno flavored chips. It’s the sort of factoid that comes at him out of the blue, his subconscious wide eyed and blinking, with arms wrapped around a thick volume with Jeno’s name on it.

            He crunches on the chip, and his mouth tastes like artificial seasoning and blood. “Maybe they’re just hot for the sake of it, Hyuck. To fuck with unsuspecting high school students with better things to do than go to basketball games.”

            There’s a physics test tomorrow. They don’t talk about it.

            On the court, the ref tosses the ball up in the air. There’s this brief moment of silence, except not quite, where the world feels quiet but its louder than ever. Shouts fill the air—in the corner of the gymnasium, Renjun can see a badly hidden blowjob. But his heart’s still, for half a second, and Jeno’s still in the same way. Potential energy burning them from the inside out.

            But it’s different, and the moment ends. Jeno’s in love with basketball, and Renjun’s in love with Jeno. Their paths don’t cross, parallelism but on different planes.

            The whistle blows, and Renjun takes another chip.

 

            …

 

            Fourth grade, and this is where it starts. The blacktop is too warm today, summer sun turning it all to sludge. It’s hot to the touch, glitters in the light. It’s too bright to stare at for too long, so Renjun doesn’t. He looks up, and sees something brighter.

            Yukhei’s standing in front of Jeno, taller than any fifth grader should be. He puts his hands up, and then to the side, a windmill on cocaine. Jeno looks up at him and grins, because self preservation is not a priority of nine year olds, and the basket is right above him.

            There’s little brighter in the world than Jeno’s smile, Renjun muses, as he takes a tentative seat on one of the mossy rocks beside the fence. This close, he could easily get hit by the ball. For some reason, the thought doesn’t scare him.

            Jeno sprints to the side, and Yukhei runs with him, a shadow with a crooked grin. He ducks under and shoots. It bounces off the rim, rolls and rolls and rolls and—Renjun puts down his book. Jeno’s running towards him, and invisibility isn’t a fun superpower to have when it doesn’t work right. He kicks the ball; Jeno slows, stops it with one outstretched foot. They don’t look at each other, and the universe breathes a sigh of relief.

            He returns to the game, and Yukhei’s complaining about _something,_ about how recess is about to freaking end, and can Jeno please just shoot the ball right for once and—

            Jeno shoots the ball. It goes in.

            Renjun pats his hand against the cover of his book, because even spectators have origin stories. Yukhei cheers, mock proud with a hint of sincerity, and claps a hand on Jeno’s narrow shoulders. The recess bell rings, and they forget the ball. It rolls to a stop beside Renjun’s feet, and it feels like an omen, somehow.

            He carries the ball in, so the yard lady won’t yell at them at lunch. It’s warm from the blacktop, glittery from the gravel, and when he goes in for class, he gets specks of it all over his workbook.

            The next day, he carries the ball back out.

 

            …

 

            “And it’s Lee—the cute one—with another great shot!” The commentator crows, and sometimes, Renjun really wonders how the fuck they pick them.

            “They’re both cute,” the other one, Chenle, puts in, panic coloring his voice. Quieter, he hisses, “God, Jisung, can you stay on topic for _once—”_

The buzzer sounds, and the other team deflates visibly. Renjun hides a smile of pride behind the potato chip bag. Donghyuck snatches it away from him, takes out a couple of chips and crunches loudly. “Jesus fuck, you could at least pay me before eating all my shit, Huang.”

            Renjun waves his hand, dismissive. “Whatever, you probably owe me for something or another anyway.” 

            He looks back out—Jeno’s smiling. It’s a given at this point; water is wet and the sky is blue and Jeno smiles, bright white and dazzling, like a small supernova. Renjun’s heart is weak, even after constant exposure. The other boy looks out at the crowd and it skips a beat, unlearning and masochistic.

            Mark takes his arm, leads him back to the bench, and Renjun blinks for a beat too long. They’re smiling about something funny, about something wonderful. He checks the scoreboard—twenty-nine to twenty. On his right, someone’s snickering about the point difference. On his left, Donghyuck is almost done with the chips.

            Jeno has a towel around his neck, face slick with sweat. His jersey sticks to his body in some places, sticks—more than it should. He’s breathing heavy but still animated, deep in conversation with the rest of his team. He shouldn’t look cute like that, Renjun thinks. There’s laws against it. People can only be cute in a select number of situations, and Jeno’s cute in all of them. He doesn’t register that Donghyuck’s calling his name until Jeno glances up from the bench.

            They meet eyes, and somewhere, fireworks are meant to go off. People are clutching each other, shrieking. Articles are being typed out about impending cataclysms, doomsday only moments away. Rocks talk; pigs fly; Jeno holds his gaze for a split second too long, and humans aren’t built for this, aren’t built for impossibilities coming to life.

            His head is too fucking loud. He drops his hand from the bag of chips, and Jeno drops his stare, turns back around, nudges Mark until he looks up, frown curving his lips.

            “Renjun, I swear to God, I _will_ drag you to like, the fucking nurse’s office, if that’s even open this late,” Donghyuck pauses once, in thought, then continues, “I’ll take you to fucking Rite Aid, and they’ll lay you out on that gross fucking carpet and slap you until you respond. Do you want that, Renjun? _Do you want the Rite Aid pharmacists to slap you to life?”_

“I’m pretty sure that’s assault,” he says, blowing out a breath that is too long yet doesn’t come close to conveying enough. He can’t think of the customary response to this, the textbook way to deal with Jeno Lee’s existence. One hundred twenty-eight pounds of starlight, directed straight at him. Renjun thinks he might cry. He looks at Donghyuck, and he blinks back, eyes too wide to be joking. “And honestly, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

            “Fucking asshole,” he says and buries his face in Renjun’s hoodie. He’s trembling, but doesn’t say anything more until he picks up the bag of chips from the floor. He sniffs, jerks his head down at the sidelines. “Was it worth it?”

            “Was what worth it?” he evades. Chenle and Jisung are still bickering through the speakers. He’s fairly sure that there’s rules against this, but no one notices.

            “Jeno Lee’s beautiful gaze, eyes as bright as the night sky,” Donghyuck says, but his voice is quieter than earlier. The change in routine rubs at him wrong, and Renjun will his heart to still. It disobeys. He’s resigned to it; if his heart did everything he told it to, they wouldn’t be here, and maybe he’d have a better grade in physics. Donghyuck nudges him, and he’s shoved to the right, into the shoulder of someone he doesn’t know.

            He feels unbalanced, untethered. Jeno looked up at him, and now nothing seems impossible. He could dye his hair green. He could streak down Haleigh Avenue. He could kiss a cute boy. These options are interchangeable, in his head.

            The ref calls something that runs through his head quickly, a shout from underwater. The players walk back out to the court, bound by something more than the color of their uniforms. This is the sort of family one sees in Disney channel original movies, ignoring the way the clock ticks towards two A.M. and consumed with a desire to belong.

            Mark stands in the center of the court, Jeno further back near the net. The latter glances at the crowd, and Renjun holds his breath, because old habits die hard. His eyes scrape across him, an irregularity too insignificant to be calculated for, a point mutation with no effect.

            Some events are irrevocable, seismic shifts under the ground, cracks written into a heart. Some are accidental, a dream forgotten moments after you wake up.

            The ball tips onto their side of the court, and the dream ends.

 

            …

 

            Jeno is smiling, running past Yukhei and shooting the ball. It’s a quick action, with little thought behind it, a reflex built into him. It goes in, and his friends cheer for him. Jaemin is watching on the sidelines, and he says something inaudible but witty. They laugh, and Renjun’s face feels like burgundy leather.

            “Shit, you okay?” Jeno is running over, and he pinches himself, twice, with his free hand. The other is pressed to his face, trying futilely to stop the pain. His head feels somewhat like a large red sore, a throbbing cut with nowhere to treat the wound.

            He kneels beside Renjun, and he realizes that at one point, he’d slid down the wall. If he had the presence of mind, he’d be embarrassed. But his face is red for too many other reasons, and everything feels faint and unreal. He pinches himself again, and the area around his fingers turns white for half a second.

            “Hey, stay with me,” Jeno says, and he has a voice. _He has a voice,_ he thinks, over and over. His head is a piñata, except neurons and ganglia aren’t as sweet as Tootsie pops, and Jeno is saying something else, markedly louder. Renjun blinks at him, sluggish. “Do you want me to take you to the nurse’s office?”

            His friends are calling, his friends are—closer than they’d been before. He says, “Do you want me to help you up?”

            “’M fine,” he mumbles around his hand, and the words sound wrong. Distorted and too high, too breathy, too unfamiliar. “I can make it on my own.”

 _The sidelines are comfortable,_ he thinks. Jeno Lee is too much up close, and one isn’t supposed to look at the sun for too long. But he can’t see well out of either eye, and he’s more a blob than anything. A star shaped blob with a basketball tucked under one built arm.

            The blob helps him to his feet. His friends are still talking, a laugh track that won’t stop playing. Renjun presses one hand to the brick wall, and it’s too cold. He heaves a breath, looks up at the blob.

            In his mind, he’s already filing this away. A memory for rainy days, curled up with a mug of hot chocolate with a faint recollection of white hot pain and the suggestion of another human body beside him. He blinks at Jeno, and he grows blurrier, from a blob to an ellipse. The effort was worth something—he’ll fill in the blanks later.

            He glances over his shoulder on his way out of the gym. Jeno passes a hand over the ball, bounces it twice, and shoots. It goes in, and the door closes.

 

            …

 

            Some things never change, even when the laws of existence shift a bit to the right.

            “Twenty-three shoots and scores again,” Jisung shouts, and Renjun wonders if he knows that there’s a microphone for a reason. “He’s becoming somewhat of a star player this season, did you know that, Chenle?”

            “Yeah, I did,” Chenle says, and his words don’t fit together quite right. Renjun considers the possibility of him waking up from a nap just then, and snorts. “He’s good under pressure, too. The championships are enough to make any ace cry for their mother.”

            “The championships?” Donghyuck screams, right into Renjun’s ear. “You didn’t tell me it was the fucking _championships.”_

They look up in synchronicity. There are banners marking the exits, elaborate and too bright in the fluorescent light. The team is smiling in the pictures plastering the identical banners, arms slung across shoulders and uniforms flat against their chests.

            _See the Wildcats win the Championship title this Thursday! Admission is five dollars._

The crowd roars, and they look back at the court. Yukhei dunks the ball into the basket, falling to the floor with a bright grin. Renjun checks the score, and almost feels a stab of pity. Sixty-eight to twenty-five.

            The scoreboard tells him that they’re halfway through the third quarter. He huffs in surprise. There’s ogling Jeno Lee until one loses track of time, and then there’s _this._ Almost the same thing, but a lot harder to bear.

            Donghyuck taps on his shoulder, and from beside his ear, there is the sound of chips crunching. Renjun glances over, and without looking at him, the other boy hands him the bag. There’s a couple chips left, and the seasoning mixed with crumbs. He takes one out reluctantly, tries not to stare too hard at Jeno. But that’s nothing easily achieved, a skiff trying to turn away from Charybdis when it’s right on the edge.

            It doesn’t matter if he does, anyway. If Jeno is light, he’s a lamp, and Renjun is a moth flying too close. Not out of recklessness, Icarus with a smile wide on his face, but avarice. And maybe that’s too similar to be anything but painful, but this is muscle memory to him.

            _Like clockwork._ The championships change nothing, in the end.

            The commentary stops abruptly, and a hush falls over the crowd. Renjun’s heart jumps into his throat. In the crowd, Jeno is looking at him, eyes wide. Jeno is looking at him, and so is Mark, and Yukhei, and every person on their team, and every person on the other one.

            Rubber against skin, a brief moment of quiet before he feels it. It’s familiar almost, and even more familiar is the drop of the ball to his feet. It brushes against his shin, and when he closes his eyes, he can see fourth grade, a little blurry on the edges. But maybe that’s just the pain, harsh and blinding and consuming.

            People are shouting. Donghyuck is clutching his arm and yelling something, shaking him just slightly. His face feels warm, sticky, and he brings up a hand to touch it, but regrets it soon after. His eyes are drawn back out to the court, back to Jeno. He’s looking at him, not a shadow of a glance but something more. Eyes fixed on his own like he’s real, and not simply the space between two words.

            Jeno’s lips are parted, and through the pain, he wonders what he means to say. Then Donghyuck yanks his arm again, and he can’t think about anything but the pain. He leads him out of the bleachers and down the stairs, and Renjun just barely manages not to fall.

            When they reach the bottom step, the commentary resumes, because _the_ _game must go on._ Renjun is just one boy, one bleeding head with an identity unknown to most of the student body. Collateral damage with a beating heart.

            Donghyuck helps him out of the gymnasium, both arms wrapped around him. It’s a precarious formation, and if Renjun tilts too far to either side they’ll both go down. Donghyuck’s crying a little bit, wet tears against the side of his hoodie. The shaking of his sobs comes in time with the throbbing in his head, and it all fades out to nothing.

            Behind them, the crowd roars. Renjun wonders if Jeno is still looking at him. He has a forgettable face.

           

            …

 

            The first time Renjun went to one of Jeno’s games, it was freshman year. He was the first and only freshman to get on varsity. He thought to get him flowers, but barnacles don’t congratulate ships when they make a successful trip.

            The gymnasium takes a long time to fill, and even then, the game starts with more empty seats than occupied ones. The team casts a demoralized glance out at the bleachers, mouths set in straight lines about to curve down. The captain, a senior with a wide grin, claps his hands together and dives into a pep talk. Renjun opens his book, because routines are meant to be followed.

            Donghyuck comes in a little late, a half open pack of Skittles in his hand. He drops it into Renjun’s lap, and sits down wordlessly. Two rows down, Jaemin Na has two foam fingers in his hands. Mark sinks a three pointer, and the small crowd cheers.

            “Why are we here?” Donghyuck asks, because it has to be said. There’s no yearning in his voice, no bitterness, just curiosity.

            Renjun shrugs. “Got anything better to do?”

            The other boy raises his eyebrows and scoffs. “Yeah, actually. I could go to the arcade, or the movies, or to Cabo, or do my homework like a responsible student, or, like, drink bleach. Any of those seem like a better way to spend my Thursday night, honestly.”

            The gymnasium smells like sweat and Lysol, rubber and rope and unwashed teenager. The low ceilings are almost reminiscent of a dungeon, and there are two windows, with bars on them. Renjun can understand where Donghyuck is coming from. Mark and Jeno run in tandem, and Donghyuck pulls a skittle out of the bag. It’s orange flavored.

            “Because,” Renjun starts, voice slow and almost too quiet to hear, “It’s too cold to watch football.”

            Yukhei passes to Jeno, and he tosses the ball into the basket. Renjun wishes he could avert his eyes. Donghyuck is quiet for a moment, considering. Then he says, “Are you going to eat the fucking skittles or not?”

            Renjun takes one out of the packet and pops it in his mouth. It’s grape flavored, and he winces.

            The game ends, and they are still sitting there. The packet of skittles is almost done, only grape and lime left. Donghyuck chews on a lime skittle and gets to his feet. He dangles the packet from his fingers, as if weighing the pros and cons of this entire night.

            “See you next Thursday,” he calls over his shoulder. They do.

 

            …

 

            The nurse’s office _is_ open this late, to Donghyuck’s surprise. She fixes him up quickly enough. She presses something stinging to his face, muttering about those ‘irresponsible basketball players’ as she does it. In Renjun’s opinion, the basketball team is the most well behaved, relatively, but he’s not exactly in the position to defend them.

            Donghyuck is hovering by his side, speaking quickly, words rushed together. Renjun hears him slowly, the volume dial on the world around him increasing little by little. “…Fucking assholes, you’d think that after four years, he’d learn how to aim a little better—”

            He tilts his head, and it aches so completely he has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out. “Who—did it?”

            The other boy blinks at him, as if registering the fact that he’s conscious for the first time. “Yukhei. But you should’ve seen their faces. You can work this, you know. Just like, feign a headache when you walk past their table and they’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the year.”

            Renjun opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t have the opportunity to reply. The nurse brushes her fingers against the wound once, decisive, and steps back. “Done. Now, for the love of God, go home and get some rest.”

            They both nod in acquiescence, and Renjun pulls himself to his feet, albeit unsteadily. He rocks off balance, and it’s like earlier, a planet pulled slightly out of orbit. Strange how powerful basketballs can be.

            They hobble out of the office, three legged and bright eyed. The moon is high in the sky, and it’s supposed to mean something, he’s pretty sure. In the gymnasium, the crowd is still roaring, but out here it’s deathly quiet. Inside, everything is cast in a warm glow, glory and victory and every other all-American word for superiority. Outside, it is dark, and when Donghyuck turns to look at him, the moonlight cuts him up into shards.

            “Are you going to,” he pauses, affects a somewhat accurate impression of the nurse, “’Go home and get some rest?’”

            Renjun exhales slowly. His head is throbbing, but it’s quieter in the dark. “Do you have any more chips?”

            Donghyuck is still for a moment, surprise bright on his face. Then his lips twitch upward. “No, but I can buy you dinner after. That is, if the team isn’t begging on their knees to cover the cost.”

            He nods, and regrets it. Donghyuck winces in sympathy, and they continue their half walk, half waddle into the gymnasium. The ref stops by, frowns at them. “The game just ended. How’s your head?”

            Renjun smiles, but it’s more a grimace than anything else. “Fine.”

            “You should go home,” they’re saying, but it sounds faint now, quiet amidst everything else.

            _I know,_ he thinks. But they go back to their seats on the bleachers, and there’s a small space around the area of impact. Blood is visible on the floor, right beside the discarded bag of chips. Renjun doesn’t look too hard at it.

            He looks down at the court, and holds his breath. People are cheering, _Wildcats, Wildcats, Wildcats,_ and in the center of everything, there they are. Wrapped together tight, something more than a group of people and less than a unit. He feels a detached kind of pride, school spirit but watered down. _Good for them._

Renjun stands, and Donghyuck stands with him. They’re no longer connected, but worry is blooming on the other’s face. “Where are you going?”

            He smiles, and it comes off just as convincing as he expects. “I can walk myself home.”

            Donghyuck scowls at him. “I’m coming with you.”

            “Dude—”

            “I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re asleep,” he declares, resolute, then adds, “In a non-creepy way.”

            Renjun laughs, and it hurts a little less than earlier. Years of carefully fading into the background, momentarily, feel more important than one second of harsh pain, and Renjun feels settled here. It’s a sad kind of warmth, like how weeds curl around the pavement and call it home.

            He presses two fingers against his forehead, considering, and shakes his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hyuck. Study for the exam, one of us should pass.”

            Donghyuck looks like he wants to say something, worries his lip endlessly. Around them, people are chattering and leaving, and they are too still to be noticed, toddlers playing hide and seek in the middle of a crowded hallway with hands on their eyes.

            They say their goodbyes, and Renjun leaves down the same corridor they entered. But it’s emptier now, just a handful of faint lights and the trickle of the plumbing. The floor is filled with confetti, and it sticks to his sneakers, glitter pressing against his forearms when he leans against the wall for support. There’s a rut in the ground, a chunk of stone rubbed at for too long, and he trips.

            Renjun doesn’t fall, but he doesn’t look up either. The arm that’s hopelessly intertwined with his own is too warm, damp with shower water. Their breaths come fast, and he thinks, bitterly, _At least I can make them pay for my dinner out of pity._ He moves to take his hand out of theirs, but they hold it tight, and he looks up.

            “Hi,” Jeno says, and Renjun’s brain short circuits for the first time. He adds, “Renjun,” and it short circuits again.

            Renjun blinks at him, because there is nothing much else to do except maybe run away screaming. He presses a finger against his wrist, ready to pinch. He rubs his nail against the skin.

            “Are you—okay? Does your head hurt?” Jeno’s words come quickly, twisted together and almost rueful. Renjun glances up, stares at him for longer than he should. He looks away, but his eyes are still wide, bright with guilt.

            _This is wrong,_ he thinks slowly. Then, _I’m too tired to care._ He says, “I’m fine.” There’s a beat of silence, and then he continues, “Congrats. On the win.”

            “Thanks!” Jeno says, smiles quickly before frowning again. This close, he flickers in the wan light of the corridor. Like he could disappear any moment, but Renjun doubts it, for some reason. The jersey is loose on his shoulders, and despite the hesitance in his eyes, he looks solid, _real._

“I should,” Renjun jerks his head at the doors. “I should get going.”

            Jeno exhales and nods. “I mean, yeah, of course you’d need to get going, I should’ve—thought about that, yeah you’re right.” Renjun turns, and he calls, “Wait! Wait.”

            His head is spinning, but he stays, and turns his head to look back at him. It’ll get to be too bright for him, one of these days, but for now he stares at Jeno head on. Something erratic pulses at him—he feels like Cinderella, an invisible timer behind both their heads.

            This is how it goes: he comes to the game, Jeno shoots the ball, does whatever stars masquerading as teenage basketball players do, and they both go home at ten. It’s five past ten.

            _Like clockwork,_ except the clock is broken. Maybe someone threw a basketball at it. (He’s not bitter.)

            Jeno is breathing quickly, eyes fixed on the cement under their feet. Confetti speckles it, covers the toe of his Converse. Then he looks up, screws up his face with what could be bravery, could be fear, in a different timeline, and says, “I’msorryfornotblockingtheballitwasmyjobandYukheididn’tmeantoandhe’saniceguydon’thatehimplease? AndisyourfaceokayohmygoditlookssobadohmygodareyouokayholyshitIfeelsobad—”

            Renjun puts a hand up before he registers it. They stare at his hand in surprise, then he heaves a sigh. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve gotten hit before.”

            “But still—”

            Panic is washing over him; ten past ten. The door behind them swings open, and there they are. Mark pokes his head out, and in the distance behind him, they can see Jaemin and Yukhei. He cocks his head at Jeno. “There’s a celebratory dinner tonight, aren’t you coming? Star player, and all—”

            He breaks, off, sees Renjun. He tilts his head as far as it’ll go, in an acknowledging nod, and Mark looks apologetic and wide eyed. He closes the door slowly, and the corridor is silent again. If he strains his ears, he can make out the heater running, quiet but unassailable.

            “You should go,” Renjun says quietly, when he can bring himself to speak. He gives a smile, but his face hurts too much for it to come out right. “They’re waiting for you.”

            “They are,” he says, and his voice is hesitant but decisive. “But they didn’t just get hit in the head by a basketball.”

            There’s one thing Renjun hates, possibly more than his lack of presence. Pity. He dips his head, and brushes past Jeno on his way out the door. “I’ll see you—whenever.”

            They have classes together, but Jeno doesn’t know this, because people don’t notice moths on the wall until they move. Jeno’s friends are still outside, too close to the door for Renjun to ignore them, but far enough away that they don’t notice him until he’s at the school gates.

            The throbbing in his head’s faded out to something tolerable, but his chest feels tight. He’ll think about it in the morning, he decides. More has changed in this night than in the past fifteen years, and he doesn’t trust himself to come to a conclusion on it, doesn’t trust himself to breathe. If he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t know whether he’ll recognize himself.

            He stops at the convenience store on the way home. It’s close to empty, and the cashier either doesn’t recognize him or doesn’t notice him. He puts a couple of dollar bills on the counter and heats up warm water for his cup ramen. The bells at the front of the store ring, and Renjun watches bubbles pop in the water.

            He doesn’t register that he’s not alone at the hot water stand until it’s too late. “Hi.” Renjun blinks at him, and Jeno puts his hand up, panicked. “I’m not stalking you. I promise. Pinky promise. I was just coming by to—” he waves at the stand. “Get some coffee.”

            “Celebratory dinner,” Renjun says after a long silence, and the words come out rushed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

            Jeno cracks a grin, small and secretive, and for a second, he feels included. The microwave dings, and the feeling fades. Renjun pulls out the water and pours it into his cup without looking up. “Ditched, it just didn’t—feel right, I guess.”

            “You just won the championship.”

            “Yeah,” he says, and the corner of his mouth goes up. “Crazy, right? But it’s just basketball, when it comes down to it and. I have a physics test tomorrow.”

            Renjun laughs, and he looks surprised, eyes becoming crescent moons. His smile is the sort of thing you can never prepare yourself for, even with years of preparation and practice.

            Silence fills the couple of feet between them, and the convenience store feels infinite, in a mundane kind of way. The fluorescent light turns Jeno human, from a smiling framed photo in the school cabinets to a seventeen year old boy. The cigarette displays are reflected in his eyes, and he’s not smiling anymore, but he’s still warm, still trembling, still _real._  Even stars have cores, and even in the strongest of hurricanes, there are centers of peace.

            Renjun feels tethered, somehow.

            Jeno is still shifting on his feet, eyes flicking between the microwave and Renjun’s face, like there’s something there that he can’t quite understand. He stirs his ramen, and his mind is roiling. This close, he should be dead. This close, he should be close to falling apart.

            When Renjun looks up, Jeno is looking at him. One hundred twenty-eight pounds of starlight, and yet his heart beats the same way as Renjun’s. Something unknown unspools in his chest, latent and wondrous.

            He holds out the cup, but his words come a few seconds late. “Have you eaten?”

            Jeno blinks at him for what feels like centuries. In the corner of the store, the cashier is still ignorant to their existences, playing solitaire on their monitor. Outside, the moon is high, and it’s an omen but Renjun can’t tell what of and he no longer cares. Mark and Jaemin and Yukhei are out celebrating and Donghyuck is studying and Renjun and Jeno are here, connected by a single cup of steaming ramen.

            Jeno takes the cup. “I’ll pay.”

 

_if everything is temporary,_

_i will bear the unbearable, terrible triteness of being._

**Author's Note:**

> THE INJURIES SEEM UNREALISTIC but ive gotten hit in the head w a basketball in the bleachers far too many times so!!!!
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hwanguIt) and here's my [cc](https://curiouscat.me/chuuist) here's to praying that this isn't complete shit!
> 
> leave a kudos/comment if ur feeling up to it :D


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